Unconditionally Mine Page 14

  “This is Sofia Silva,” he said to the girl. “Make her feel welcome, please.”

  But he needn’t have worried. Sofia quickly won her over with her engaging smile. Even his irritable mother was slightly less irritable around Sofia. They’d found his mother in the living room surrounded by friends and family. She looked tired, the lines of her face pronounced.

  “Mom,” Jon said.

  His mind went blank. He couldn’t think of one word to console her. Sofia rested a hand on his back and said, “So sorry for your loss. Jon tells me he was a great man.”

  Then she forced him forward, that hand on his back pushing him toward his mother. Jon hugged and kissed her. She felt small and fragile in his arms.

  “Jon didn’t tell me he was bringing a friend,” she said.

  “It was a last-minute decision,” Sofia said. “And I’m here to help. Any errands, anything you need done, let me know.”

  “Just make yourself comfortable,” his mother said, adding, “You, too, Jon. There is coffee in the kitchen.”

  Jon led Sofia off by the hand. For having done this for him, helping him through that two-minute interaction, he owed her for life.

  * * *

  Twenty-four hours flew by and it was time for Sofia to head back to Miami. The trip had gone as well as she could’ve hoped. She’d met Jon’s family. His mother was a short stout woman with salt-and-pepper hair and crumpled brown skin. Jon looked nothing like her, and physical appearance was only the start of their differences. Where Jon was composed, never losing his temper, his mother was a loose cannon. More often than not, her children were at the receiving end of her verbal attacks. Jon’s half sister, Lena, was only a teenager, grieving the loss of her father.

  Early Friday morning, Sofia rode with Jon to the cemetery and they attended the simple graveside funeral together. Following the service, family and friends filled the modest suburban home and stayed well after the sandwiches Lena had prepared ran out. Thankfully, Sofia had ordered enough lasagna, garlic bread and green salad to feed an army.

  Throughout the entire ordeal, Jon had held her hand. And now, he kissed her in the back of the town car waiting to whisk her to JFK.

  “I don’t want you to go,” he whispered. “I only want to travel with you talking my ear off.”

  Sofia edited that down to: I only want to travel with you.

  She cupped his face. “I’ll be there when you get back on Sunday night.”

  “I’m going to miss your party.”

  “Don’t even think about that!” she scolded.

  “I wanted to be there.” He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to hers. “What am I going to do about my mother?”

  The question surprised her. She hadn’t realized that this was a concern. “I’m sure she doesn’t need you to do anything. It’ll be enough that you’re here to support her.”

  “Since when is that ever enough?” he asked. “Should I offer money?”

  At times like this, Sofia thought, money solved a lot of problems. But if he was asking whether he could use money as a substitute to connecting with his mother... “Maybe Lena can clue you in on things she might need done. Like clearing out the garage or something. Be useful. Show her you care.”

  “You’re saying keep busy and stay out of trouble. Good call.” He winked at her, those brown eyes mischievous again.

  Before he climbed out of the car, he handed a few bills to the driver and told him to take good care of her. He stood watching from the hotel entrance as the car pulled away. Sofia couldn’t tear her gaze from the window until he had disappeared from sight.

  She wanted to be his girlfriend. She wanted to be his everything. Admitting it ripped a hole in her safety net.

  Could this really be mine?

  Chapter 20

  Early Saturday afternoon, Sofia drove over the Star Island Bridge. She was there to meet with the gallerists and ensure that the sculptures had been set up as planned. She was also there to make sure the koi pond had been thoroughly cleaned and the koi themselves looked healthy and spry. But really she was there to get out of the house. Where once she had enjoyed spending time alone, she could no longer bear it. She missed Jon in a borderline irrational way. The cure for that was to keep busy.

  A twenty-four-million-dollar teardown house was spectacular when well lit and filled with art. The retractable doors had done the thing they were designed to: disappear. The main floor seemed to float above the bay. A quartet was setting up by the pool. Nick and Leila looked genuinely pleased as they walked around, fingers linked, taking it all in. Watching them, Sofia’s heart seized. She might have burst into tears if Ericka hadn’t approached with a mini crisis to solve.

  When Jon got back, they’d have a talk. While reassuring the caterer that she’d have the crystal-encrusted Buddha blocking the entrance to the kitchen moved out of the way, Sofia made up her mind. She couldn’t go on like this, playing house as if nothing was at stake. Everything was at stake. She didn’t want to have fun. Her heart yearned for reassurances, stability. She was old-school and could only handle so much fun.

  The guests arrived, wine flowed and the party took off. Feeling guilty for indulging in an anxiety attack on the job, Sofia moved to the deck to better take command. Leila made faces at her from across the yard. Sofia waved at her, but she kept on making faces. She blinked furiously, as if trying to communicate with her via telepathy. She added a gesture, discreetly pointing toward the wine bar, and mouthed, Jon is here.

  Sofia looked around. He wasn’t at the bar. He was two feet away, chatting with Brie next to an acrylic bust of Marilyn Monroe. He looked scruffy and tired. He looked sexy. Sofia felt as if she were rising off the ground and up into the starry sky.

  Leila and Nick got to him first. By the looks of it, they were offering their condolences. Sofia took the time to pull herself together. She grabbed a glass of wine off a passing waiter’s tray and took a few gulps. Leila was pointing to her now. Jon shook hands with Nick, kissed Leila on the cheek and came looking for her. He took the steps leading up to the deck, his eyes sweeping over her. Her body-hugging red dress was a Victoria Beckham marvel that she broke out only for big-time events. And it was worthy of admiration.

  She put on a show of moderate surprise. “What are you doing back so soon?”

  “If you’re happy to see me, Sofia, just say so.”

  “I’m surprised and happy.”

  He pulled her to him by the waist. “I wanted to be here.”

  As much as she wanted him to hold her, she had to wiggle herself free. “Sorry. No PDA on the job. Company policy.”

  “Who owns this company?” he asked.

  She held firm. “I do, but I have to set an example.”

  “I hear this house has eighteen bathrooms.”

  “Eight,” she said, laughing. “It has eight bathrooms.”

  “Take me to one of them.”

  “I’ll do you one better.”

  Sofia led him to the rooftop terrace that was off-limits for now. A clear dance floor had been installed over the pool. While a DJ set up for the after party, a bartender was stirring up a Star Island Star pineapple vodka cocktail. (The signature cocktail wasn’t the worst idea she’d ever heard.) She drew him to a secluded corner. They could talk tomorrow. Tonight, she’d hide away with him and let him do to her whatever he wanted—because this part was fun.

  * * *

  Little Red Fish was swimming in tight circles, his glorious fins fanned out like wings. Sofia fed him while Jon made her “breakfast.” He poured almond milk into a blender cup, added a scoop of protein powder, a chopped banana, a handful of fresh mixed berries and gave the monster mixer a whirl.

  “How is that breakfast?” she asked. “I expected scrambled eggs.”

  He poured the smoothie into a glass and handed it to her. “Drink.”
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br />   Sofia reluctantly took a sip. He waited for a reaction and when she didn’t offer one, he tried coaxing it out of her. “Say you love it.”

  “Fine!” she said after her second sip. It wasn’t as if she’d never had a smoothie before, but this one was creamy and flavorful. “I love it.”

  He grinned. “It’s the fresh berries. Women love it.”

  “Who are these women?” Sofia demanded. “I hate them all.”

  Jon rinsed out the blender cup. “Jealous, sweetheart?”

  Sofia put down her glass, walked over to him at the sink and punched him in the arm. “I think I have the right to be.”

  He glanced down at his sculpted biceps as if a mosquito had landed there and flew off without even attempting a bite. “Drink up. We’re going to work on that punch.”

  One of the first things Jon had done was have a punching bag installed in the side terrace. He tossed her a pair of gloves. Sofia stared at them for a while as if she weren’t sure how they worked. The fit was loose. She did her best Rocky, punching her gloved hands together and grunting with aggression.

  Jon did not seem amused. He took her by the shoulders and positioned her before the bag. “Give it your best.”

  Sofia eyed the stuffed vinyl cylinder hanging from the ceiling. Why should she punch it? It hadn’t done anything to her? It seemed like a total waste of energy.

  “Jon,” she said. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

  He laughed openly at that. “Come on, Sofia. There’s got to be someone you’d like to punch in the face.”

  Well, put that way... Sofia projected Franco’s face onto the black vinyl. She swung and hit it in the jaw. Take that! She swung again. You lying, sexting, tax-evading, pura vida poser! She swung as hard as she could, huffing and puffing as she went about it. The bag bobbed about wildly. Sofia doubled over, out of breath, but proud of herself.

  “How... How was that?” she asked, winded. Clearly, she had to up her cardio game.

  Jon steadied the bag, and motioned for her to straighten up. With his hands on her hips, he positioned her before the bag again. He took hold of her wrists and raised her hands to the height of her chin. He tapped at her feet, easing her into a more solid stance.

  “Now,” he said, “strike once with your right and then your left. I want to hear a sharp rhythm. One. Two.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Quiet,” he said. “Now go!”

  So damn serious! Since when did smacking a stuffed vinyl bag call for such attitude? She swung. One. Two. “How’s that?”

  “Not great.”

  “Jon!” She was going to take a swing at him.

  “You’re not a puppy. You don’t get a treat just for trying.”

  “A puppy?” Did he just compare me to a dog?

  “Stop talking, calm down and focus.”

  It took Sofia a few breaths, but when she returned to the bag, she struck with purpose. One. Two.

  “Better.” He laid a hand on her belly and squeezed, forcing her to contract her abdomen muscles. “From the core this time.”

  Is he saying I have a gut?

  “Chin up. Controlled. Go again.”

  This time, she applied herself, wanting nothing more than to impress him.

  One! Two!

  “Very good.”

  She swiveled around, smiling, asking for a treat. “I want a kiss.”

  Jon took her in his arms. “I haven’t taught you a damn thing, have I?”

  She shook her head. “I already knew how to count to two.”

  * * *

  He wrapped up the boxing lesson in time to watch an English League Championship soccer game—or football match, as he put it. Sofia figured they could talk during halftime. But when the beleaguered players hobbled off the field to a 0–0 score, Jon was worked up, shouting at the TV screen. It would’ve been the wrong time to say, “Honey, we need to talk.”

  Sofia settled down. The players charged back onto the field. They were trim and light on their feet and stylish, sporting beards, shaved heads, Mohawks and even the oh-so-metrosexual man bun. The commentators made witty observations on the players’ attempts to set up plays and score that ever-elusive first goal. She rested her head on Jon’s lap and fell asleep, wishing every Sunday could be like this one.

  After lunch, Jon took a call from work, all the while heating water for tea. “Wait a minute. Wasn’t he deposed twice?” he asked.

  Sofia looked up from her payroll spreadsheet. She watched, her heart skipping, as he went about in the kitchen. He held the phone cradled to his ear, brows drawn in serious focus, while pulling Sainsbury’s tea bags from their wrappers.

  This was her man, no question about it. Now, how to go about telling him?

  Last night, when they’d had a few minutes alone at the party, he had held her, told her she looked beautiful and tangled his fingers in her hair. When they rejoined the others, the weariness of the last few days had been gone and he was himself again. He moved the heavy Buddha statue out of the caterer’s way. He passed her business card to a hotel mogul client. He joked around with Brie. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that he had been close to telling her something important, and the opportunity had been lost.

  Jon walked over, handed her a cup of tea, tousled her hair and stepped out to the yard to continue barking at his caller. She looked into her cup and admired the rich caramel color, dark tea and milk mixed just right. Her phone rang, shattering the moment. It was her parents calling from the airport in Atlanta, waiting to board their flight to Miami.

  “We went to the Vatican, darling!” her mother exclaimed.

  Sofia laughed. “Mom, I booked the trip, remember?”

  She and Miguel had chipped in to offer their parents the trip of a lifetime, although Sofia had been afraid it would be too much of a strain on her mother. Life was short, her mother had reminded her. She’d always dreamed of visiting the Vatican. Who was to say she could afford to postpone the trip another five years?

  “It was divine,” her mother carried on. “But we’re glad we’re coming home.”

  Sofia was glad, too. But in a way, their return brought back the burdens of the past. With them gone, she’d had the space and freedom to try a new life. Now, she suddenly felt less free.

  “Corazón,” her dad said. “It’s your dad.”

  “I know, Dad.” Who else could it be?

  “What’s the situation with Franco?” he asked straight away. “Cheating the IRS is serious business, niñita.”

  Usually, her father wasn’t this tender. The profusion of endearments was his stab at diplomacy. Still, it touched her heart.

  “It’s not the IRS. It’s the Florida Department—”

  “Whatever it is, it’s serious, Sofia!”

  “Everything is under control,” Sofia said. “I wouldn’t worry.”

  “Did you speak to the lawyer?” he asked. “You know that boy isn’t so bright. If he were, he wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  Was it her responsibility to clean up the mess?

  “Listen, you two,” she said, figuring they had her on speakerphone so everyone at their airport gate could listen in. “You’ve been traveling. You’re tired. We’ll talk about this at home.”

  As soon as she got her parents off her phone, the landline rang. Sofia got up from the couch and checked the caller ID. The caller was at the gate. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Jon was still outside, pacing and talking animatedly.

  She answered. “Hello. Who’s this?”

  “Sofia, it’s me. Franco.”

  Sofia leaned against the nearest wall. “What are you doing here?”

  “Let me in. I need to speak with you.”

  She punched the code to the gate, then raced to the front door. He could come into the yard, but no farther. She wouldn’t allow h
im to step foot into the house. This was an absolute invasion of her privacy and she intended to let him know it.

  Franco hopped out of his black Mustang, whipped off his sunglasses and assessed the house. “Nice digs.”

  “How did you find me?” she asked flatly.

  “Miguel gave me the address.”

  The traitor!

  Franco strode up the path to the front door, but Sofia blocked him.

  “Can I come in?” he asked.

  “No. What’s so urgent you couldn’t have called?”

  “You don’t answer my calls.”

  “What’s so urgent you couldn’t have sent a text? I would’ve answered a text.”

  “Really, Sofia, can’t we get out of the heat and talk?”

  “No!”

  The door Franco was eyeing swung open and Jon’s massive body filled the doorway. The look on his face! Sofia knew this day would come. The day she’d watch helpless as her worlds finally collided. To avoid any casualties, Sofia went to Jon, rested a hand on his arm and spoke as gently as she could manage. “Could you give us a minute?”

  He looked so confused that she wondered if she’d asked the question in Mandarin. She rephrased her request. “Jon, please. Give us a minute.”

  He stepped back into the house and shut the door without saying a word. Why did she feel as if she were betraying him? All she was asking was for some space to deal with Franco—to get rid of him, frankly. She couldn’t do that with him glaring at her from the door.

  Sofia turned back to the intruder. The look on his face rivaled Jon’s, but less intimidating.

  “You’re living with my lawyer?” he asked, incredulous. “You’re sleeping with him?”

  “He’s not your lawyer,” Sofia replied.

  “Can’t he get disbarred for that?” Franco asked.

  “Franco, Jon is not your lawyer,” Sofia said through gritted teeth. “You’d be lucky if he was. Now what do you want? Why are you here?”